


A Pastry Worth Fighting For

by Runwildwithme (NectarinesAndSourThings)



Series: Tales from the Else [12]
Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Genre: Changelings, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Illusions, competing over rights to triple chocolate muffins for fun and profit, competitions, forbidden majors, glamours, possibly uncomfortable descriptions of eyes?, spite, this is crack and i am Not Sorry, unmitigated silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:40:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NectarinesAndSourThings/pseuds/Runwildwithme
Summary: The word goes around terribly quickly for those who have an ear out for these things: showdown, north quad, sunset. Dorm 5 and 8 both have changelings, and there’s A Dispute, possibly over Dorm 5’s Tuesday monopoly over baked goods.And given that they’re both (nominally) pretending to be human, they’re making no efforts to keep things quiet, contained, or private.
Series: Tales from the Else [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/815868
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	A Pastry Worth Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

> yeah I'm not even going to PRETEND to be sorry about this because 1) I'm super not and 2) are you kidding?? this is hysterical!!! ...says the writer. W/e, I stand by it. 
> 
> So I'm apparently managing to post something roughly once a semester? Not.... not the greatest, lol, but! Better than nothing. You're welcome. (in IRL news, I have a JOB lined up for AFTER I GRADUATE. it is, even, the job I WANTED, and it pays.. so much, guys. it pays so much. ok no nothing crazy, its not big law (I would die), but it's CERTAINLY a living wage. a thriving wage, even. I'm not gonna be a broke grad student anymore I'm so happy). 
> 
> so yeah the pandemic plus classes going online plus interviewing w/ a bunch of different places plus just waiting to hear back plus some other stressful stuff... not a whole lot of writing juices flowing. So y'all get this 1K worth of abject SILLYNESS. 
> 
> Also: I have no idea when it takes place, timeline-wise. maybe it doesn't! maybe this is AU to feathers proper. Just know: somewhere, somewhen, this absolutely went down.

The word goes around terribly quickly for those who have an ear out for these things: showdown, north quad, sunset. Dorm 5 and 8 both have changelings, and there’s A Dispute, possibly over Dorm 5’s Tuesday monopoly over baked goods. 

And given that they’re both (nominally) pretending to be human, they’re making no efforts to keep things quiet, contained, or  _ private _ . 

By mutual unspoken agreement, the various alliances of the humans are being held out. Only a few crows perch in trees nearby, and only a single tabby cat is curled up on the picnic table in the southeast corner. The table no one ever sits at remains empty, and even the closest dryad has made herself scarce for the evening. There are ... _ many _ people watching. 

A fair portion of the forbidden major are in hysterics over it, and at least one enterprising polisci major is taking fervent notes and making noises about a proxy war. Another group, much larger and less organized, looks on with eager, unkind eyes. Dorm 5, as a whole, has not made many enemies, but neither have they made many (human) allies. People are always eager for a good fall from power, and triple chocolate muffins are a powerfully motivating thing. 

In the center of the quad, dorm 5’s Not-Jenna squares off with dorm 8’s Muffin. 

Behind each of them, roommates watch carefully. 

Nothing happens for a long time, aside from a thorough exploration of just how widely the phrase ‘narrowing one's eyes’ can be applied. 

Muffin, it is agreed, is more creative, but Not-Jenna’s applications are more skilled.

A block of four breaks off from one of the forbidden groups to debate whether more points should be assigned to physical manipulations of flesh (Muffin) or the use of glamour (Not-Jenna). 

Each dorm sends an emissary to observe and record the decision, and Muffin and Not-Jenna step apart to allow for the debate. 

It ends in a draw, hinging upon the fact that the two changelings have very different natures: Muffin is not naturally inclined towards glamor, Not-Jenna is not naturally inclined towards more physical manifestations, and while Cat-Eyes was called, she could not be convinced to attend. She did, however, give the opinion that all present were ‘stupid asshats what the fuck do you think you’re doing’ and also ‘do you really think this is going to end well, you fucknut?’

Thus the debate is hung, and points will be allotted based upon efficiency of the given skill, as opposed to a direct competition. 

There is a brief hush, after this announcement, but no  _ immediate  _ tragedy befalls the forbidden major who spoke up. Attention turns back to the changelings. 

Not-Jenna pops a hand on her hip, throws her shoulders back, and flips her hair over her shoulder, bright eyes gleaming, even as narrow as they are: mean-girls vogue.

Muffin hunches, one hand curls itself around the strap of her ever-present backpack, and the other finds its way to the jangling key-chain to clutch at a plastic cylinder- mace, or a very good mock-up. She pulls back her lips, and grimaces at Not-Jenna with a quite frankly impressively normal set of teeth. 

Observers agree- she looks the quintessential young college girl, not sure she likes what’s going on around her and ready to deploy weaponized pepper because of it. Very well done, maybe something about the shoulder joint? But nonetheless, it’s agreed: the absence of prior knowledge leaves Muffin nigh undetectable to the naked eye. Yes, very,  _ very _ well done. Several eyes drift towards dorm 8, a bit worried, but are distracted soon enough. 

Not-Jenna’s eyes, on the other hand, have the appearance of narrowing further as she watches the impression: further, ever further, are they really still visible-? but yes, of course she has eyes, that’s just a turn of phrase  _ of course she has eyes _ , and a delicate furrow appears upon her brow. 

Several of the forbidden majors campaign for an award of points just for that bit of glamor, but are overruled. They already did eye things, objects one, and the objection carries. Points for style, though, are granted. Still, Not-Jenna’s comparatively recognizable nature now has her at a disadvantage. 

Slowly, delicately, deliberately, she dips her fingers into a back pocket, and produces a-

No, the watchers murmur. Surely not, that’s not possible! Perhaps, like the mace, a very good fake. Sculptors like this kind of project, yes, surely a fake. 

Maintaining eye-contact (thankfully, in the regular, human sense of the phrase), Not-Jenna raises the small rectangle of glass and metal to her face, fingertips isolated from it by only a thin layer of plastic, and presses a button. 

‘Siri,’ she says, voice clear and ringing, ‘what time is it?’ 

The crowd goes wild. 

—

Not-Jenna wears the fried husk of the phone on a cord around her neck for three months, and bakes  _ cupcakes _ \- discount white-cake box mix, plain frosting, always a little too dry, delivered with just the  _ cheeriest _ smile - for dorm 8 every chance she can manufacture for the next six. 

She ends up setting off an increasingly elaborate exchange of baked goods fueled by spite and pettiness, which somehow expands to four other dorms and then a fraternity, branches out in curries, nearly starts four separate fires,  _ does _ start three, and only ends when the sorority (k)nights crash one such exchange, run away screaming with all of the baked goods, and leave only coupons for Round Table pizza in their wake. 

It is not exactly a fair trade -by definition of ‘fair’  _ or _ ‘trade’- but it does put paid to the whole matter. Dorms 5 and 8 eventually come to an agreement detailing the various times in which either dorm has dibs on various eateries both on and off-campus. They are, of course, the only two dorms willing to abide by it.

It takes nine law students, fourteen revisions, an incredibly violent unseen and unnoticed war betwixt, and then the total annihilation of, three very minor courts of pixies who had become emotionally invested in the whole thing, and a fifty-eight page long agreement (complete with calendar attachment), signed by all parties, but peace is, eventually, restored. 

The sorority (k)nights, somehow walking away from the whole thing with a reputation for being willing to intervene when plied with enough pastries, are pretty sure they’re the real winners. 


End file.
